


Yearning a life not yet led

by TheSweetestThing



Series: Wise To The Ways Of King's Hearts [2]
Category: The Tudors (TV), Tudor History - Fandom
Genre: Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSweetestThing/pseuds/TheSweetestThing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary and Anne differ on the latter's approach to the King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yearning a life not yet led

For the first time in a long while Anne had invited Mary to share her bed, and the sisters lounge in their nightgowns with heavy eyes and leaden limbs. Their Mother had watched Mary with wary eyes as she walked past to Anne's bedchambers, and no doubt she thought she only served to influence her badly - though she was right was she not? Bad for the Boleyns, anyhow. What a tricky dance they lead, straddling the line between pristine and soiled. A daughter discarded, another wanted by the King, and do they encourage Anne to resist his advantages in the hope of something more? Or merely to help their youngest avoid the fate of their eldest? Mary does not care for their thoughts, she only wishes Anne would not be so _stubborn_. 

The hour is late, and Mary doesn't know how Anne can stand to read, squinting as she does at the heavy book in her hands, the amber light of the fire illuminating the tiny scripture. Always the clever one Anne, and Mary sighs inwardly, pausing where she brushes her hair in long, even strokes, tugging through the silk strands. Why does Anne resist his advances? She does not see the honour in being chosen by a man beloved by God Himself, it is clear. She should be skipping to his bed, and gladly, and enjoy the love a King lavishes before he is turned by another pretty head. If they are as discreet as she herself was, why no one need know and King Henry will arrange her a nice match and she'll have everything she ever wanted. Mary cannot make head nor tail of it, of why her sister refuses the gifts he sends her and the ardent letters he writes in his own hand. The nerve of it! Mary would never dare, nor would she want to. 

With a sigh, Anne lowers her book and glares.

"Must you be so judgemental in your gaze?" 

"I only seek to understand why you hesitate." Mary says honestly, tossing her brush on the blankets she's sat upon. "Most ladies of the court, nay all of them, would count their blessings and pray to Him above that a mighty King has cast his gaze upon them." 

"Well I'm not like other ladies am I?" Anne says, and they share a smile.

"No," Mary agrees. "You most certainly are not." 

Who could ever be compared to Anne? Mary has been told she is prettier, but she lacks the spirit inside her sister that makes her tick, that makes her eyes glow and smile widen. Boleyn sisters they may be, but where there is two there is always one better. Mary does not resent her for it, for it is plain fact. 

* * *

"You needn't fear Anne." Mary says later, when they're curled under the covers gazing at each other's face half in shadow. Her eyes are itching with sleep, limbs languid, and she has come to the conclusion after many minutes spent reflecting on why her sister remains so obsinate.

Had she not always been haughty towards things she hated? Things she feared? It simply _must_ be that, for what else remained? True, she could be a prude, but was Mary not the same before King Francis's teachings? She lacks the male touch upon her skin, and the thought must be frightening for a girl with a broken betrothal, a girl lusted upon by a King. Mary looks at her sister sympathetically, and she must reassure her. It does not do for Anne to be so uncertain, so scared. If she is scared, why, Mary might soon follow suit and then where would they be? Anne is always the sensible one, and it rankles Mary. Sensible and scared of the unknown, when Henry was the most experienced of men with his years of marriage and the mistresses he kept!   

"He is an experienced lover. True he may not satisfy one’s own yearnings..." Mary reflects for a moment amidst her reassurance, recalling those nights where he was sated and she left wanting before she took care of the problem herself. "Thought I taught him a few lessons learnt in France-"

"If I give myself to him I shall be ruined." Anne whispers. "You're married, you don't see..."

"I am married, I see clearly the acts that happen between a man and woman." Mary lets out a breathy chuckle, voice rolling across the silent room. She with the many nicknames, of course she knew very well the implications of such acts. Anne's hand shoots out to pinch the soft flesh of her hip and Mary yelps.

"I am being serious." Anne's eyes shine and Mary is instantly contrite.

"I know. I beg your apology." She smoothes her sister's raven locks and tries to conjure words that will soothe her sister's harried state. She dislikes seeing Anne worry so, her sister who is always without fail determined and confident in everything and anything. Anne sniffs under her breath, a crease forming between her eyebrows so deep her reflection is, and Mary hums thoughtfully.

"Think of it as... a flower." Mary adjusts herself, propping her head up with her elbow to stare more intently at her sibling. Anne's eyes bear into hers with all the avid concentration she was renowed for, and Mary knows she has Anne's full attention.

"Once men pluck it, they know of its sweetness. They can even fill it with their own seed-"

"And create a sapling from which a child is borne." Anne says dryly, a glint in her eyes that makes Mary laugh with pure delight, a rich cackle that makes a smile spring on Anne's face she tries vainly to dismiss.

"Yes, yes!" Mary says, voice rising in pitch and tenor as a swoop of giddiness takes her. She allows herself one more laugh before reining her emotions in for if she continued in such a way Anne would take offence and kick her from bed and never share her feelings again for fear of not being taken seriously. It is a serious matter to her little virgin sister, and Mary leans in closer, a calming exhale of breath washing over her sister's cheeks, laid flush against the fat goose-feathered pillows.

"And after that they move on to other flowers in bloom and allow another to tend to them."

"Your example is quite disgusting." Anne says, tone laced with a haughtiness well-used as she crinkles her nose. Mary is not deceived one whit, for had she not just smiled at her own added witticism? Her sister’s mouth works awkwardly, unsure of how to continue.

"And... once it is plucked it can never be reversed. What if the gardener picked hates that? What if they tear it to shreds for being different? Surely one can tell, surely they will all know!" A mixture of worry and revulsion washes over her face, hands clutching her sister's.

Mary looks at her sister calmly, squeezing the cold fingers between her own. "If the flower is beautiful and ripe - if the _woman_ is intelligent and lovely and everything a man could wish for he should be happy he has the honour to be her husband. And no one else need ever know… no other in court knows I bedded the King do they? He will match you with a man worthy afterwards, and your reputation will be clean whilst you reap the benefits of your bedding. They will not know, all women are different. If he suspects something, well, you ride horses often, and when you give him sons and daughters he'll not care."

Mary watches the flicker of trepidation in Anne's eyes as she inhales slowly, mulling over the words. "Your William, he did not care when the King began to... to pluck you?"

"Not at all." Mary assures her. "Indeed, he likes me all the more for it, for Henry's ardour for me granted him lands and titles he never would have gained elsewise."

"But you were married first, it is different for I." Anne continues.

Mary snorts. "If Elizabeth Blount can get a husband, anyone can. Most of all you."

"But she is the Mother of the King's acknowledged son. I shall be only a... a whore." She bites her lip. "With no prospects or-"

“You would not be _ruined,_ Anne." Mary glares at her sister, willing her to believe it. "Even if you bore him a child it would only prove you were fertile, and thus more desirable. Not that it matters… I believe we are more then who we lay with."  

“Not if you lay with a King.”

"We know that is not true." Mary chides gently, giving her hands a loving squeeze. "You have brains better than the whole family, and looks far from ugly, and laying with a King shall never change that. A King is just a man with more power that’s all. The power to pick a spouse over Father. King Henry would arrange you a marriage to someone kind; if you fear I shall ask him, I think he still regards me well."

"I do not need my older sister to fight mine battles, appealing to the King no less!" Anne says appalled, inhaling sharply. "They are situations that shall never exist anyhow. You see now, how I cannot risk my reputation and life for a mere fling?" She sighs, rolling over onto her back and Mary watches her chest rise and fall lightly.

She did see Anne more clearly, her reasonings and doubts and worries. Mary thinks she would rather be less clever and not riddled with anxiety than bright and ailing with stress like her sister wilting before her. If she only gave in to the King's demands she would be so less stressed, bright eyed from love making and confident because she knew she was wanted after the situation with Percy. If King Henry becomes angry with her defiance, well... Mary shivers and determines to think more positively. He will merely turn his attention to another girl, perhaps even to _her_ again, and wouldn't that be amusing?  

"Everything will work out in the end." She says lightly, pressing a loving kiss on her sisters cheek. "I'm sorry for pressing the issue so. I did not think it caused you so much upset."

"You never think." Anne grumbles, though the corner of her lip tilts upwards to show she means no offence and Mary smiles.

"That is why you are good and pious and the best Boleyn." Mary nuzzles her side affectionately.

"Don't let George hear you say that." Anne lets loose a small laugh.

"George is a man, they all believe themselves to be the best." 

"Thank you." Anne says sleepily, eyelids heavy. "Thank you for staying tonight. I know William-"

"I always have time for my little sister." Mary says generously, for who else could she act childish around without fear of anger? Father and Mother acted at best as if she were a distant friend, and at worst ignored her completely. Anne alone is the only female companion of worth Mary has left, for the other girls of court were pretty but uncomparable. Mary is a married woman after all, and most of her focus nowadays was on her darling children. "And I and William haven't slept together since I've been churched anyhow. It's dangerous for me to get with child so soon after Henry."

"How is my nephew?" Anne smiles fondly. "It has been too long since I have gazed upon his face."

"Yes, for you occupy your time with only one male lately!" Mary laughs. "My boy is hale and healthy, he grows more handsome every day." She smiles softly at the thought of her darling son, only three months old. "He has stolen my heart like no other."

"You see?" Anne whispers. "You have two beautiful children and a husband who is fond of you. I want that too."

"And you will." Mary assures her, and she resolves that if Anne were to remain stubborn she may do some match-making. Anne has plenty of admirers, it would not be a hard thing to find a man willing to marry her... marry her in the face of King Henry's lust though? She hesitates, uncertainty making her toes curl. Her sister has a dreamy look settling in her eyes as she blows out the candles leaving them in darkness. 

"I will." Anne yawns, and Mary closes her eyes and waits for sleep to take her. Another whisper, almost unheard above the relaxing sound of their synchronised breathing, the warmth of the bed that stole her thoughts second by second and left her slipping into sweet dreams. 

"I will have that and more." 


End file.
